


Family Ties: Father Figure

by darkrose



Series: Mad World [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Blow Jobs, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-04
Updated: 2010-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While recruiting for the Grey Wardens in Denerim, Duncan stops by the Pearl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Ties: Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt: _"How Duncan finds Alistair, and what happens when he does"_ in the [Dragon Age Kink Meme](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/) on LJ. Set roughly six months after [Beautiful Bastard](http://archiveofourown.org/works/95542), and six months prior to the Battle of Ostagar.

Duncan didn't usually indulge himself like this, but it had been a trying day. Cailan may have been awed by the Grey Wardens, but Loghain still seemed convinced that there was another Orlesian conspiracy in the works.

_And, of course, he'll always suspect me of being up to something._ Duncan sighed. _Andraste's flaming tits, I need this right now._

Sanga was as delighted to see him as always--or she pretended well. "It's been too long, Duncan. What are you in the mood for this evening?"

Duncan thought about it for a moment. Finally he said, "Surprise me."

Sanga beamed, and whispered to a pretty elven boy. Whatever he whispered back must have pleased her, because her smile widened.

"Farel, please show the Grey Warden to Alistair's room--and let Alistair know that he has a client," she said.

"Of course. This way, ser--" Duncan followed Farel to a room at the end of a long hallway. The elf stopped in front of a door and opened it.

"Ever hear of knocking? And what do you want? I don't have anyone scheduled--"

Farel smirked. "You do now. Sanga's orders, and you'd better do a good job, because he's a Grey Warden." Duncan winced. As precarious as their position was at the moment, it probably wasn't the best idea to shout his affiliation from the rooftops of the most popular whorehouse in Denerim.

That concern was instantly forgotten, however, when Duncan stepped into the room far enough to get a good look at the young man who was stretched out on the bed, a book open beside him.

_Alistair...how did I miss that?_ was his first thought, closely followed by, _Sweet holy Maker, Fiona is going to kill me. Slowly._

The second-to-last time Duncan had stopped at Redcliffe to check on Fiona and Maric's son, the boy had been eight years old, his features unfinished in that way children of that age are. The last time he had gone, Arl Eamon had refused to meet his eyes as he explained that he'd sent Alistair to the Chantry, and Duncan had tried to figure out how to tell his oldest friend that her son was, effectively, lost.

Now, however, the mark of both parents was clear in Alistair's face. It was most obvious that he was Maric's son, but Duncan could see traces of Fiona in his eyes and mouth.

He didn't notice when Farel slipped out of the room and closed the door. Alistair was staring at him intently, frowning.

"Do I...." Alistair shook his head. "No, never mind."

He closed his book and knelt up on the bed, clasping his hands behind his head in order to show off his body to better advantage. It wasn't truly necessary. Generally, Duncan preferred women, but on the occasions when he wanted a man, that was exactly what he wanted, not a boy. Alistair's broad, muscular chest, with just the slightest trace of red-gold hair across his chest and down his flat stomach, was enough to make Duncan silence the voices in the back of his head telling him that this was wrong, and in precisely how many ways.

"What's your pleasure tonight, ser?" Alistair said in what had to be his professional voice, huskier and lower-pitched than when he'd been speaking to Farel.

_I shouldn't do this, but Maker help me, I'm going to anyway._ "I want your mouth on me, lad."

Alistair smiled, and for half a second, Duncan thought it might be genuine. He slid off the bed and crawled over to Duncan with no particular grace. His fingers were clumsy unlacing Duncan's trousers, but he finally got Duncan's cock out and gave an appreciative little noise before licking along the underside of his shaft.

_Either someone's trained him very well, or he has quite the natural talent._ Duncan ran his fingers through Alistair's shoulder-length hair, trying not to think about how much he looked like his father. _I'm fairly sure that when Maric asked me to look after his son, this was not what he had in mind._

Alistair was teasing him, sucking the head of his cock lightly. When Duncan looked down, he could detect a spark of pure mischief in the boy's eyes. Growling a little, he grabbed the back of Alistair's head and shoved him down on his cock. If Alistair hadn't moaned, Duncan might have felt badly, but as it was, the lad was clearly enjoying himself.

Duncan prided himself on his control, but Alistair's skill was definitely pushing the edges of it. He took a deep breath and pushed Alistair away. The boy whined and strained forward, trying to get at Duncan's cock again.

"Patience, boy," he told Alistair. "Now, I want you up on the bed, kneeling. Trousers off." He smirked. "If you can, that is."

Alistair blushed scarlet, but he did manage to ease his trousers off over his erection. Duncan allowed himself a moment to fully appreciate the sight. _Was Maric that big? I think I would have remembered that...._

The only chair in the room was a heavy, cumbersome thing, and it took a while for Duncan to wrestle it around to the foot of the bed. By the time he'd managed it, Alistair was settled on the bed, sitting back on his heels with his knees apart and one hand resting on his cock. It was a lovely picture.  
`  
Duncan took off his boots and his trousers and settled into the chair. "Touch yourself," he ordered, "But don't come, not until I tell you."

"Yes, ser." Alistair sounded a little breathless; this time, Duncan suspected he wasn't acting. He leaned forward, watching intently as Alistair began stroking himself slowly.

"That's it," Duncan said. He curled a hand around his own cock, mirroring Alistair's pace and rhythm.

Alistair reached up to his chest and twisted one nipple, which made him tilt his head back and hiss sharply. It was blasphemy, surely, but he looked like an early Andrastean martyr, caught up in ecstasy as he burned. Duncan decided that he was done with waiting and climbed up on the bed.

He wanted Alistair's mouth on his cock again and Alistair was clearly interested in that plan, because he immediately stretched out on his back to give Duncan better access. This time, there was no teasing. Alistair sucked him all the way in, arching his back and moaning around Duncan's cock. Duncan shuddered and grabbed Alistair's head with both hands, fucking his face roughly until finally, _finally_, he let himself come.

He pressed his thumb against Alistair's throat so he could feel as well as see it when he swallowed. "Now," Duncan whispered, and Alistar arched off the bed and nearly kneed Duncan in the groin as he brought himself off. Afterwards, Duncan swiped his fingers over the come on Alistair's stomach and watched, smiling as the boy sucked his hands clean.

Duncan stretched out his side; after a moment's hesitation, Alistair nestled against him. He pressed his face against Alistair's hair, inhaling the clean, soapy scent. _Sanga's no fool. His awkwardness and...innocence, even, are as valuable as his Theirin looks. She's not going to let him go easily._ There was no question in Duncan's mind that he couldn't leave the boy here, but he wasn't sure how to approach the subject when Alistair gave him the opening he needed.

"Are you really a Grey Warden, ser?" he asked. Duncan smiled slightly.

"You think your friend was lying to you?"

Alistair snorted. "Farel's lying if his mouth is moving--and he's not my friend."

"In this case, he was telling the truth: I am indeed a Grey Warden." Duncan waited, curious about where this was going.

"When I lived--when I was a child, when we weren't playing Orlesians versus Fereldens, we'd pretend to be Grey Wardens," Alistair said, sounding wistful. "Going out to slay the evil darkspawn on our griffon mounts. I was very disappointed when I learned that there aren't any more griffons. I wondered if that meant there were no Grey Wardens, either."

Duncan laughed. "Sadly, the griffons are gone, but the Grey Wardens are very much here, though somewhat diminished in number." He let the silence stretch out for a while, then added as though it had just occurred to him, "As it happens, I'm here in Denerim recruiting. You would make an excellent Warden."

"Me?" Alstair squirmed around so he could look at Duncan. "Um...I don't know if you noticed, but I'm a _whore_."

"And I was a thief and a murderer, conscripted off the gallows," Duncan replied. "The Wardens don't care who you are or what you've done, about your family or lack thereof, or about your race or sex or who you pray to. The only thing that matters to us is that you have the will and the ability to fight the darkspawn."

He took one of Alistair's hands in his and stroked his palm, still callused from wielding a sword. "This tells me that you've been trained to fight. The fact that you're here and alive and unbroken tells me everything I need to know about your will."

Alistair was staring at him, eyes wide. Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Sanga isn't going to let me go."

As it turned out, Alistair was right. Duncan was forced to conscript him, and Sanga made it clear that it would be a long time before Duncan was welcome at the Pearl again.

They camped for the night a little ways out of Denerim. During the night Duncan was awakened from a fitful sleep by the sound of someone trying to slip into his tent quietly and doing a poor job of it. _Stealth is clearly not his forte, is it?_ A big hand settled on his crotch, working at the laces of his trousers.

"I'm not a Grey Warden yet," Alistair murmured in his ear.

_Maker forgive me,_ Duncan thought as Alistair teased him to full hardness with hands and tongue, _because Fiona certainly won't._


End file.
